


I'm here

by Lomeniel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apathy, Comfort, Depression, F/M, Insomnia, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 14:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17408462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomeniel/pseuds/Lomeniel
Summary: Sometimes I can't sleep, and then I imagine having a Sam of my own. I think we could all benefit from having a Sam sometimes.





	I'm here

You blink slowly, the movement follows your breathing: inhale and close your eyes, exhale and open them again. The phone in your hands shines brightly, but you see nothing. 

The library is silent, it has been so for a while, since Dean said goodnight. Or was it good morning? Time moves with incomprehensible speeds. The shadows are long around you, and you sink deeper into the soft cushions with an inattentive sigh. 

The sofa creaks and a tiny gust of wind caresses your neck. “Jesus, you look like shit! What’s wrong?” Sam asks as he sits down beside you. There’s a look of concern on his face, but you’re too busy scrolling more or less aimlessly on your phone to notice. 

With a shrug you look up briefly, giving him what you hope is a neutral - maybe even a happy - smile, but from the deepening frown you just know it didn’t work. So you sigh and give him the most useless answer in the whole world: “Nothing.” The lie tastes sour on your tongue, and you wonder if your eyes look as dead as you feel inside.

Sam tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and tilts his head. “Uh-huh. Doesn’t look like a whole load of nothing. You’ve been in the same spot for hours, and you haven’t eaten anything today -“

“I’ve eaten...” you interject, a little indignantly, pointing to the bowl on the table, wincing slightly when you see the dried ring of chocolate milk on the old wood.

“Cereal doesn’t count, you know,” Sam says sternly after a quick glance, “and besides, that bowl was there yesterday too. Have you been here since… Jesus, that was eight hours ago. Have you even slept?”

Again you shrug. “Meh.” There’s a dull ache in your body; it’s impossible to pinpoint where. Sometimes it’s in your chest, sometimes in your shoulders. Or maybe it’s just in your head? It’s all a haze, grey and cold like a rainy morning. No. Rain is too lively. This is like a chilly morning covered in smoke. It feels like you’re suffocating.

Sam takes the phone from your hands and puts it on the table, pulling gently on the charger cord that’s stuck between the cushion and the armrest. Then he grabs your shoulders and turns you towards him so you’re forced to look him in the eyes. From the way his hair sticks out in every direction, you guess he’s just gotten out of bed. “Please,” he whispers, unleashing the full force of his convincing gaze upon you. “You can tell me anything. I’m here.”

Though you never break his gaze, your shoulders slump forward a bit, and the pain you’ve been trying to avoid settles in your chest like an ice-cold rock. “I...” Your breath stops before the sound can escape your mouth. Maybe you don’t deserve to breathe right now. It’s hard to find the right words, so you swallow and bite your lip. “Just... Empty. In here,” you finally add, tapping your chest with a trembling finger. Another sigh, then the annoying burning behind your eyelids gets too much, and you close them. That releases the tear that’s been clinging to the corner of your eye for the last half hour. It follows the contour of your cheek, running along your jaw and comes to a rest in the hollow of your neck. Another tear, one you weren’t aware of, trickles along your nostril, and it tickles. Sniffing lightly, you inhale the tear, and the salt kinda burns in your nose. 

Two strong arms wrap around you, blocking the light, and you scoot forward a little to escape the last sliver of light from the lamp. Burying your face in soft fabric that smells of warm sleep and sweat - of home - you exhale slowly before taking a deep breath. The back of your throat hurts. Damn Sam and his ability to make you feel. 

He pulls you even closer and whispers softly in your hair: “I’m here.” One hand rests on the back of your head, fingers moving slowly, calmly, back and forth, the other holds you to him with a gentle force. He’s breathing evenly, chest rising and falling, and you follow the pattern. It’s pleasant, you find, and you briefly wonder why you haven’t sought him out before. The answer comes before you can form the question properly: because he’s got enough already.

In a fluid motion Sam has picked you up, and suddenly your feet dangle in the cold air, but you don’t look up. His grip is secure, and though his strength would impress you at all other times, now you’re just happy to be close to him, even if it won’t last. Still, you hook your arms around his neck to shift some of your weight. Better safe than sorry.

“I’m gonna take you to bed, yeah?” he says, breathing steadily as you move through the bunker.

You nod, almost imperceptibly, and breathe in again. But you don’t want to be alone in your room. Why is it so hard to say anything? His scent fills you with emotion, with love, and your heart thumps so hard it’s difficult not to imagine he can’t feel it through his tee. 

Sam’s bare feet slap silently against the concrete and tiles, and the rhythm mixes with the beating of his heart. Or is it yours? You don’t know. 

Then, a few moments later, you’re set down on a soft mattress. It doesn’t smell like yours, and for a moment you almost muster the energy to look around. Almost, but not quite. 

You don’t want to, but you let go of Sam and roll over on your side, curling up into a ball and hide your eyes on your knees. You wait for him to leave, but instead the mattress dips, and warmth spreads over your back. 

With one arm over your chest, fingers entwining with yours, he uses the other to stroke and comb through your hair. “I’m here,” he repeats. It’s just a whisper, the memory of a breath on your neck. 

You cling to his hand as if your life depends on it, the heat of his skin spreading through you and painting your vision with colours previously forgotten. Drawing breath, you intend to speak, but the moment you open your mouth, all words are forgotten, so you exhale hard, and lean into Sam’s embrace. He squeezes you harder. Did you just imagine a soft, so incredibly soft, kiss behind your ear? 

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he breathes. “I’m here. For as long as you need me to.”


End file.
